


Not Good For the Heart

by crowby



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Injury, Brutal Murder, Car Accidents, Gun Violence, Secret Santa, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowby/pseuds/crowby
Summary: A suburban man is worried he might be stalked by an intriguing stranger. Is it true, or just all in his head?
Kudos: 1





	Not Good For the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> i know you can't read, brady, but i hope you enjoy this somehow :3

The hall of the hotel was empty. At least, that’s what the man peeking from around the corner could see. He waited a few minutes, watching for any movement from under doors or door knobs, making sure the patterns on the carpet and walls didn’t inexplicably change. When everything seemed to be in order, he meekly came out into the hall and power walked towards his room. He looked around him once more before quickly trying to retrieve his keys from his khaki’s pocket. Once he got them out, he swiftly dropped them. When he bent down to pick them up, he banged his head on the door. 

The man was a mess, but rightfully so. For the past week he felt he was being followed. Everywhere he went, he saw some pink haired man not too far from him. At first, he summed it up to coincidence. Maybe the man was simply new in town and wanted to get a good feel around the place. No harm in doing so whatsoever. It quickly grew to worrisome territory when he would see the same man outside his home or driving past it. Again, he tried to make an excuse for that as well. A new neighbor perhaps or a friend of a neighbor.

One event quickly spooked him badly however. He worked in an office firm for an advertising company. The building was airtight with security to defend against rivaling companies. Security cameras at every corner, security guards at each exit/entrance, and you could only access most floors with a keycard that only employees had. He would swear on every god there ever was that what he saw was real.

The man had gotten up from his cubicle to stretch his legs and grab a drink from the water cooler. He was walking around other cubicles, dodging people on the way. He was close to the water cooler when from the corner of his eye he looked into one particular cubicle. It was as though everything had gone into slow motion. He could see that man’s face, those piercing blue eyes staring deep into his very core, and striking pink hair. 

Once he passed it, he stopped dead in his tracks. His muscles stiffened and he felt his stomach twist into knots. He thought it couldn’t be him, no way he worked here. He didn’t seem like the type of person to work here. That wasn’t an insult or anything, he just seemed more like a casual type of person who wouldn’t fit into a boring professional space as this one. It took him a good second to turn around and peer into the cubicle. Nobody was inside it. He went back to his own and tried to focus on work the rest of the day.

The day after that, while driving home from the store, a car had been following him since he left said store. He wasn’t sure, so he took a few random turns here and there. Sure enough, the other car followed. He even turned around, and the car did so as well. He was sweating bullets as he tried to shake off the car for a good hour and a half. The man also wasn’t sure of it as he couldn’t see into the car that well, but he swore he saw that same damned pink hair.

The sightings got worse and worse. No matter where he went, he could see him just in the corner of his eyes or just far enough behind him to not look suspicious. The same car from that day always following him and passing by his house almost periodically. The man thought he was going insane. He didn’t think he was anything special to have someone stalk him. He was about middle aged, thinning hairline and quite poor eyesight. He was also a bit overweight to boot. There was no reason for anyone to be coming after him.

He contemplated getting the police involved, but found it futile. He had no evidence to back up any of his claims. If he came to the police now with nothing, they would sum it up as the ramblings of a crazy man. The man thought he would set up security cameras or even buy one of those body cams that were beginning to get popular. Maybe even take a video or picture with his phone next time his car was being followed. He didn’t have the time to think of a plan, unfortunately. 

The straw to break the camel's back was after coming home from work, and not being followed for once, he saw someone broke into his home. It wasn’t that obvious at first. The back door was unlocked, and he rarely even went past it. His office was a mess, papers strewn all over the place as though someone was looking for something, and a small vault underneath his desk was missing some personal documents and money. Everything else in the home seemed fine enough though. Almost with impeccable timing, he looked out the window to see that same car slowly pass his house. 

The man had enough. He quickly got to work booking a hotel. He wasn’t going to stay in town any longer, so he would try the next town over, or even two towns over. All he knew was that he needed to leave now and get somewhere as far away as possible. Of course he couldn’t uproot his whole life in the blink of an eye, but he needed some space to figure something out. After some hurried calls and google searches, he packed up his things before heading to the hotel.

He had taken about five different busses, the first two to try and shake off his supposed stalker for a bit. He had no idea if it worked, but it was worth a shot. It was now late, and after many, many hours of paranoia. The man had a crick in his neck from constantly looking behind him. He was so tired and just needed some rest to refuel. Once he had a much clearer mind, he could probably come up with some plan.

He picked up the keys and unlocked his door. The smell of cheap, off-brand disinfectant hit him. The man flicked on the lights to illuminate the tiny room in an offsetting white color. The carpets were a dull, greenish grey while the walls were light brown wood panels. His luggage sat on the pale pink sheets of the twin sized bed. He slowly entered, taking the keys with shaky hands and then closing the door way to fast and hard. 

He leaned his back against the door and sighed, his whole body finally feeling the edge of the whole trip wash over him. His body still continued to shudder with anxiety. After taking a few deep breaths, he finally stood up and made his way to his suitcase. The man flipped another switch, turning on the small light above his bed. It was the same slightly nauseating white light. He unzipped the suitcase and started to look through the mess of items in search of pajamas. 

The man barely registered the small movement in the window at first, but a second to realize what had happened made his skin pale and his stomach do flips. He didn’t want to look up. He really didn’t but he knew he had to. His body shook intensely as he slowly brought his eyes up to the window. The thin, white curtains were drawn open and one could only see the darkness of night from the window. But in the reflection from the lights, he made out a tall figure with long hair. The silhouette was too dark to identify, but the man knew who it was already. 

He could barely swallow as he felt like vomiting any moment now. He stared at the figure and stood still like a statue as though that would make the intruder leave. He didn’t dare to tear his eyes from the reflection for a second, and as he kept looking he saw the other person pull something from the waist and point it directly at him. His heart sank as he heard a click.

“Turn around,” a deep, monotone voice told him.

He just kept looking to the window without moving.

“I said turn around.”

“H…” he finally swallowed and his lips quivered. “Who are you?”

The other man spoke again, this time sounding slightly annoyed but still pretty emotionless. “Don’t make this difficult for me.”

“W-What do-do you want from me??”

“You wanna get shot, don’t you?”

The man decided it was a good idea to move now. He slowly stood up straight as an arrow and turned around to face the gunman. As he suspected, it was the same pink haired, dark skinned man that had been following him. He was happy to know he wasn’t actually crazy, but that happiness was very much outweighed by the impending threat of dying.

“Empty your pockets. Put everything on the bed,” the stalker said, his blue eyes looking towards him with an almost dead look to them.

The man quickly obeyed, emptying the spare change, wallet, and room keys from his worn jeans. He quickly looked back at the other and eyed him. He was dressed pretty normally, but the man wasn’t sure what he expected him to wear. He was wearing a black sweat jacket and matching sweatpants. He also seemed to be wearing some black, heavy boots with gloves that were, unsurprisingly, black too. The only noticeable thing about him besides his hair was the light pink tattoo around his neck.

His silver gun reflected the hotel room lights as it was pointed directly at him. The man was sweating bullets as he eyed the gun, hoping he could destroy the gun by just looking at it hard enough. Without moving his head, the other male looked to the things on the bed and then back at his cowering prey. He approached the man and pressed the gun against his chest hard. 

“Grab your wallet and then we’ll leave.”

The man quickly looked up and searched the other’s emotionless face for any saving grace.  
“Where are y-you taking me?”

“Wallet, now.”

The tone had some dark power behind it, and that coupled with the gun pointed directly at his heart made him quickly retrieve his wallet again. Once he did, he was roughly grabbed by the shoulder. He was pushed in front of the dark skinned man, back pressed against the now hidden gun. He was ushered to the door, and quickly opened it to reveal the still empty hall.

“Don’t act suspicious or I’ll shoot you on the spot,” the gunman said in a hushed voice. The man nodded and began walking to the elevator. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder again pushing him in the other direction.

“We’re taking the stairwell and exiting through the back. Understand?”

The man nodded again and with wobbly legs started to follow the directions exactly. A lot of stairs later, he exited through a door to a parking lot at the back of the building. There weren’t many cars, but he didn’t see the one that had been passing by his house. He was escorted to instead a grey minivan. He was a bit surprised to be forced into the driver's seat and his captor taking the passenger seat in the back. The gun was no longer aimed at his chest, instead his head now.

“Drive. I’ll tell you where to go.”

He looked down at the wheel, praying that all of this was just some messed up nightmare. When he slowly gripped the steering wheel, he was coming to terms that this was indeed real life. He gave a shaky sigh, adjusting some mirrors and then turning the car on. He drove out of the parking lot and then was given a few directions before the car was filled with silence.

The man tried to keep his focus on the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly as well, but it was hard to focus when you had a gun to your head. The highbeams of the car stretched desperately towards the mostly empty stretch of highway. It was pitch black, and the only light piercing through the darkness were headlights of passing cars or establishments that were still open at this hour. Soon the buildings grew fewer and fewer in between, along with passing cars.

A few more directions, and he found himself in the middle of nowhere. He could make out the road was much more worn than the highway before, and he could see dilapidated farmhouses amongst overgrown fields. The reality of it all hit the man hard. He was going to die for sure. He had seen enough movies to know that places like these are exactly where bodies were hidden. His life began to flash through his mind as he counted his regrets. He found his voice again, getting the very last ounces of his strength left to face his potential killer.

“Can I at least know your name, before you…. Well…”

“No,” the pink haired man replied blankly.

“Can I at least know why you’re…. You’re doing this? I mean, I’m not special or anything.”

“Your organs are pretty special to some people.”

He nodded, pretending to know what he meant. He finally tore his eyes away from the road to look up at the rearview mirror to see the other.

“Could I… at least call my fiance? Tell her goodbye?”

“No.”

“I-I just want her to know I love her-”

“I said no,” the gunman interrupted.

“Please, she’s going to be so devastated and-and now she’ll be a single mother.”

The man wasn’t sure what part of that sentence got the other’s attention, but those pale blue eyes snapped up to meet his in the mirror. He took this opportunity to continue his plea.

“I-I’ll accept it. I know you’re going to kill me. I just don’t want my last regret to be her thinking I just abandoned her.”

Those bright eyes looked away, seemingly uninterested before he muttered something.  
“Family is overrated.”

The man wasn’t sure where he got the courage to keep talking, probably from the fact of dying or the hope of his captor sympathizing and setting him free, but he went on.  
“Not to me. I always wanted to be a dad since I was young. I was the oldest out of all my brothers and was already used to taking care of others.”

"When I met Olivia, I knew I wanted to have her forever and make a family. The, uh, family part came a lot sooner than expected,” he chuckled and looked back at the road, adjusting his hands on the wheel.

“No one cares,” the other said, trying to make him feel deflated and hurt, but he didn’t care.

“I care, and that’s what matters,” he continued. “I care about Olivia and our kid… whoever he or she might be. I was really hoping to meet them.”

“You aren’t getting pity out of me.”

“I’m not trying to,” he said, which was half true.

“Nobody cares about your dumb girlfriend or your dumb kid. You would probably be a shitty father anyways,” the other said in a tone that the man could see was much more rougher than before.

“Maybe, but I would try.”

He looked up at the rearview mirror again, instantly meeting those piercing eyes that seemed to be emanating some hidden rage. 

“I would try to be a somewhat decent father," he continhed. "The best I can do is try and love them. That’s the least a father should do.”

BANG!

Blood and brain matter covered the windshield. The car began to swerve and skid off the road. Soon, the minivan was tumbling through an abandoned wheat field. Windows smashed and doors eitherother crushed inwards or flew off completely. The bodies inside flail wildly, completely vulnerable to the forces of the car. After a moment, the car soon stopped, finally landing upside down amongst the wheat. The path behind it consisted of crushed wheat, dirt clouds from dirt picked up, and metal debris.

A few moments passed before the pink haired man, battered and bruised, climbed out of a whole in the car where a door used to be. He hopped out, groaning and shaking glass from his hair. When he finished, he inspected his gloved hands and found them speckled with blood. He locked his jaw and quickly paced over to the front of the wrecked vehicle. One headlight was completely smashed as the other flickered rapidly on and off. He started to fume.

His eyes scanned the car, taking in it’s destruction and somewhat smoking. He saw that the bloodied windshield was smashed as t. The body of the older man was stickingstook out of it. A hole was shot clean through his head, exposing what remained of his brain. His eyes were glazed over as blood seemed to slowly pour from his nose, mouth and ears. The body had glass piercing through random parts of it and was covered in scrapes and bruises. 

The pink haired killer seemed to fume more as he kept staring at the pale face of his victim. His last words echoed in his mind over and over and over. The more they were repeated the more they stung and ripped memories from old to the forefront of his mind. He groaned, which quickly turned to screaming as he got his gun out and began shooting the already dead body. He shot wildly, causing the body to thrust from the hard impact of the bullets. 

He kept shooting, even after after running out of bullets. He soon stopped screaming and raiseds his gun to throw it at the bloody mess of a body, but tensed up. His breathing stopped for a few seconds, before he let out a long breath. He slowly lowered his gun down to his waist and put it away. He could feel his body still slightly shake from rage as he tried to rebury the memories that were brought back up.

The murderer reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out an old box of cigarettes. He opened them and stared at them before taking one out and placing it in his mouth. After he lit it and took a long drag, he sighed through his nose and seemed to relax a lot more. His plan had become a bust, and he could blame himself but instead put all of it on the victim. Or, what remained of him. He looked into the distance and saw the sky start to brighten slightly, daybreak threatening to come soon. The black clad man took it as a cue and began to walk through the path of destruction and back to the road.

He took another drag, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. 

"There’s always next time,” he said as smoke escaped his mouth and into the crisp twilight air.


End file.
